Upon Meeting a Boy on the Street, While Carrying the Cremated Remains of My Alice The kid says it, and the bell can’t be unrung, “Your wife’s nothing but a pile of dirt, now.” Was it just the uncorrupted, clear-eyed innocence of a child, or did he mean to be cruel? And could a child, a boy of about eight or nine years old, be so insidious? I try to adjust my thinking, flip the switch from darkness to light, but the old filaments in my mind snap; glass shatters; synapses misfire. I grab his neck with my right hand, squeeze the small cardboard box with my left and make him—eat—his—words. Balancing On the Sharp Edges of Crescent Moons I have a bipolar friend who—now in our late 50s—texts me: “Who am I?” How do I respond; do I respond? I tell her she is a dear old friend, a beautiful, talented, and intelligent woman. When in fact, I feel like she is *past tense.* I AM her friend. WAS her friend. She is all but lost to me now. Even herself. This is the nature of disease. The dis—ease straddles our world and the next, leaving her to blindly balance on the sharp edges of crescent moons: offering no rounded, no soft places to fall. Swimming Through Shadowlands Deep below the lake’s surface, there sits—intact—a house. A two-story structure of Carpenter Gothic details like elaborate wooden trim bloated to bursting. Its front yard: purple loosestrife. Its inhabitants: alligator gar, bull trout, and pupfish. All glide past languidly: out of window sashes and back inside door frames. It is serene, and it is foreboding. Curtains of algae float gossamer to and fro. Family pictures rest clustered atop credenzas. A chandelier is lit, intermittently, by freshwater electric eels. And near a Victrola, white to the bone, a man and a woman waltz in a floating embrace. Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois, USA. Published in over 100 literary journals / anthologies (across six of seven continents), he is founding editor of the Webby Award recognized Dribble Drabble Review, as well as a Best Book and American Writing Finalist.
Essays from Doug Jacquier
Seoul. I am meeting with a potential South Korean supplier. We are in an old part of the city in a building which is part office and part museum. We have all removed our shoes. While we talk, we partake of seemingly endless cups of tea prepared and drunk in the traditional manner. Some of these teas have been preserved for decades and are discussed with all the seriousness of vintage wines in our culture. It is mutually understood that no decisions will be made today or even at any time in the near future, as is the norm in most Asian cultures. Eventually it comes time to leave and I sit on what I perceive to be a solid looking stool to put my shoes back on. Something indefinable shifts in the mood, although the smiles remain. Walking down the laneway leading away from the building, I take our translator discreetly aside and test whether I have sensed the mood correctly. He politely informs me that the ‘stool’ I sat on is a 400-year-old ceremonial tea table and only its superior craftsmanship has averted disaster for all concerned. Shanghai. My flight to Hong Kong is delayed considerably. (I discover later that this has occurred because the Chinese Air Force has suddenly closed the airspace for an exercise and that it is not uncommon.) Finally a boarding call is given to a gate downstairs from the busy main departure area, empty of all but my fellow passengers and the airline staff. A Chinese family is at the departure desk yelling at the staff and refusing to be placated. A bus arrives to ferry passengers out to wherever our plane is parked. The family rushes towards the long line that has already formed at the check-in door. The bus is soon full and the family will have to wait for the next bus. At this point a young man from the family becomes hysterical and attacks a male staff member, pulling his hair and slamming his head against a glass partition. Other passengers finally intervene and I look around for a security guard. Oddly, for any international airport and especially for China, there are none. When a second bus arrives, all of the family are allowed to board. When I board the plane, I find myself seated across the aisle from the angry young man. I stow my gear and make my way back up the aisle to a steward. I describe briefly what has occurred on the ground and ask why the man has been allowed to board after assaulting one of their staff. She shrugs and her face says ‘it’s no big deal’. I return to my seat and the man glares at me for the whole flight. Mumbai. We are returning from a delightful restaurant lunch, driven by an Indian colleague, in her own car. Our animated conversation is interrupted by a policeman at the side of the roadway motioning her to pull over. She is informed that she has exceeded the speed limit and she should step out of the car to show her licence. Mumbai traffic is such that exceeding the speed limit is about as likely as the sighting of a unicorn. However she steps out of the car, taking her purse, and plays the game. After returning to the car she advises that she has paid the requisite bribe and the matter will be forgotten. She says normally she would challenge such behaviour but we are already late for our next appointment.
Poetry from Arsi Rauf
Almighty Written by Arsi Rauf Almighty, Almighty, Almighty All praises for Thee, Who did search, In high mountains, And boundless sea, He got Thee. In each star dwells A newer world, Sun and the moon Show your majesty Often, when I look around Though can't be seen Everytime very close You are found That you hear a tiniest whispered sound So Whenever I did search I got Thee O! Almighty.
Poetry from Diah Youlo
𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗/ 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑, 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍/ 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚗-𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊/ 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝/ 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑/ 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎! 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚠a𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑, 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛/ 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑/ 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗! ©® 𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙝 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙤 2022
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
settle in for a long ride a sunny cold day the day before the first day of winter the day before the holiday blues settle in for a long ride now as i grow older i know that ride will get as close to death as possible at times you learn not to fear it enjoy the tension the pensive delight of closing the circle the only thing that is truly guaranteed --------------------------------------------------------- still with her mask on listening to a conversation in the waiting room while staring at this beautiful black woman wondering what she looks like naked of course, my imagination does that but still with her mask on you know, safety first and all ----------------------------------------------------- having never learned the lessons the relentless agony of the end of life holding on for a few moments the last laugh the last kiss the last nibble of glory having never learned the lessons of all those wise fucks that came before the urgency of now is fleeting taking advantage of every second is nearly impossible in this world where you are bombarded with an endless onslaught of shit disposable, as is everything --------------------------------------------------------- anxiety and dread just enough snow to fill the old ladies with anxiety and dread i'm the asshole that wishes for enough to make driving an adventure such is life no one is ever really happy ------------------------------------------------------- that whiff of death i remember cutting through the woods on this old trail i remember learning to ride a bicycle and suddenly taking advantage of that freedom i remember finding this old trash bag one day in the woods it smelled my friend and i told his father about it he went over with us to open it up a dead dog that whiff of death still sits in the front of my brain all these years later i know one thing though it made life on the farm pretty easy my nose could smell a surprise long before my eyes could be shocked
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at The Black Shamrock, Terror House Magazine, Cajun Mutt Press, Beatnik Cowboy and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from Ivan Jenson
One-percenter Let me decide for myself if success is as empty as they say and I will let you know if dating a Swedish model in the French Riviera is vapid and will rapidly lead to my soul's decay and when my pretty bank teller sees my current balance and her pupils start dilating don't tell me this won't feel like a spiritual awakening because I have been chasing that star-studded gold-leafed, sugar-coated gift-wrapped, jackpot since I was old enough to watch the Beverly Hillbillies on TV so don't you even try to stop me from sipping on some good ol' Texas tea Lonesome Dove I don't share my life with one particular person in the traditional sense instead I have built an amazingly effective invisible fence that keeps my dogged pride from running away from this private property and possibly getting run over and once in a great while I let in the unexpected visitor who happens to be in the area and just thought they'd stop on by and we have cookies and coffee and when they leave I wave goodbye as their car pulls out of the drive while holding my caged heart yet it somehow escapes like a parakeet into the skies and that's when I remember that time flies Spring Cleaning I still saved everything you gave me and I have stored all that nothingness in an empty room in the attic of my consciousness next to undeveloped negatives of what could have been positive if only you could have lived up to the hype of being what I wanted so much but can now live without I guess that is what dandruff and dust is all about Hook Up It's official this whole thing is superficial and based solely on mutual distraction from emotional depth or even worse spiritual meaning because sometimes it's fun to downgrade expectations and indulge in soft-core consensual conversation consisting of nonintellectual innuendo and zero love so tomorrow don't even wait for my text instead when you think of me just whisper the word "next" The Big Comeback I was once beautiful respected far and wide the toast of the town considered the next big thing expected to stay on top traveled first class pursued by women and the press mentioned in the tabloids paid handsomely young as roses in bloom whispered about in certain circles the life of parties uptown and down loved to the moon and back dressed in Versace with both parents alive and proud now I'm living in a modest home walking like a zombie at a local Mall disappearing into a crowd learning old friends have become somebody driving while listening to 80s music lost in fantasy at the pharmacy a has-been who would-be if could-be and yet just offered a major new contract given a new lease on hope checking with a lawyer if this is too-good-to-be-true assured this is a legitimate opportunity pinching myself to make sure it isn't just a dream not even worried if this time it will or will not last just ready to once again kick fame and fortune's ass
Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and popular contemporary poet. His artwork was featured in Art in America, Art News, and Interview Magazine and has sold at auction at Christie’s. Ivan was commissioned by Absolut Vodka to make a painting titled Absolut Jenson for the brand’s national ad campaign. His Absolut paintings are in the collection of the Spirit Museum, the museum of spirits in Stockholm, Sweden.
Jenson’s painting of the “Marlboro Man” was collected by the Philip Morris corporation. Ivan was commissioned to paint the final portrait of the late Malcolm Forbes. Ivan has written two novels, Dead Artist and Seeing Soriah, both of which illustrate the creative and often dramatic lives of artists. Jenson’s poetry is widely published (with over 600 poems published in the US, UK and Europe) in a variety of literary media. A book of Ivan Jenson’s poetry was recently published by Hen House Press titled Media Child and Other Poems, which can be acquired on Amazon. Two novels by Ivan Jenson entitled, Marketing Mia and Erotic Rights have been published hardcover. His website is: http://www.ivanjenson.com
Ivan Jenson’s thriller “The Murderess” is now available hardcover and as an eBook on Amazon. Ivan Jenson’s new thriller, “The Widow” will be released in March 2022.
Synchronized Chaos March 2022: Leaps, Hops and Vaults of Faith
Welcome to March’s issue of Synchronized Chaos! This month’s theme is in honor of the first Lit Hop in the city of Hayward, just east of San Francisco.
All are welcome to attend this multi-venue literary reading on Saturday April 30th, coinciding with Hayward’s first youth poet laureate award ceremony. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work.
Also please join us for the Audible Browsing Experience in Philadelphia March 24th at Head House Books.
Due to the huge size of this and last month’s issue, Synchronized Chaos will experiment with going biweekly this spring. We’ll put out issues on the 15th and the last day of each month to make the issues more manageable while still showcasing all of the thought-provoking work we receive.
Also, we acknowledge the heavy state of the world right now and stand with those around the globe who need our support. We encourage you to donate copies of your books to organizations serving refugees or perform in benefit readings or contribute how else you can to those affected by war. Project Smile, founded by two teen brothers, accepts handmade and handwritten cards of encouragement as well as gently used books of all sorts. Information on them and how to donate here.
Also, here are some Ukrainian cultural and literary publications if you wish to support them with contributions.
VSESVIT (Ukrainian word for ‘the entire universe’)
Now, for this issue. Many pieces reference transformation, or the need for it. Writers and artists contemplate hopes, dreams, and aspirations, creative and healing leaps forward into the future.
Mahbub renders the beauty of memory and contemplation in lush, calming pastoral poems while Benyeakeh Miapeh speaks of a gentle connection with nature. Tranquil lakeside scenes pull E.J. Evans into curiosity about worlds beyond his own, whether the lives of other species or children’s futures.
Lori Minor turns to nature for brief, mayfly-like haikus observing her feelings. Abdulrazaq Salihu links his family’s migration to ecological dispersal and evolution while Michael Hough and Christina Chin’s collaborative work explores the love and curiosity caterpillars may feel watching their companions metamorphose to butterflies.
Chimezie Ihekuna’s screenplay collection showcases individuals who encounter grace at change points within their very diverse lives. Mamta Verma reflects on how much she would have missed in life without her lover’s presence. Michael Robinson gives thanks for his physical and spiritual redemption while John Culp, despite his human vulnerability, greets the forward movement of history with optimism.
Ivan S. Fiske seems to choose, or at least find, happiness by reflecting on his ancestors’ escape from slavery, although depression seems always nearly at hand. James T. Whitehead questions whether people can change. Can we overcome our addictions, can we “grow” ourselves like topiary plants, by means of willpower, therapy, or contemplation?
Mario Loprete preserves his clothing from Covid-19 quarantine into concrete, representing our being trapped and held back by the disease while also serving as an act of hope, creating artifacts that will outlast us and represent us far into the future.
Jake Sheff references and quotes thinkers from centuries past while mulling over autumn wind, cheese, rivers and human nature in grassy Oregon. Tareq Samin honors the diverse expressions of human lives and cultures throughout history. As in Sheff’s and Culp’s work, all people, regardless of race or social status, exist as part of a greater whole.
Karol Nielsen contributes postcard vignettes from her world travels, while Pathik Mitra comments on world inequality in a powerful piece, reflecting on individual lives within a global framework.
Stark Hunter presents a panoply of dreams and nightmares, enveloping his family history within his subconscious. Gabriel T. Saah compares his dreams to his children, beautiful creatures pulling him into the future with their beauty. Jean Eureka celebrates the beauty of future dreams while staying aware of the nightmare of potential ecological destruction, while Elbov Kulmonov honors both his dreams, whether realistic or not, and his connection to his native Uzbekistan.
Yusuf Salisu Muhammad laments violence, poverty and corruption in his native Nigeria while also celebrating a special woman in his life, while Ahmad Al-Khatat mourns a generation of young people displaced or killed in wars. Amos Momo Ngunbu portrays the ugliness and dehumanization of slavery and its legacy in cultural memory. Adamu Yahuza Abdullahi elegizes losses to war and violence through the eyes of a young man whose grief lingers while he’s alone with sunlight and nature.
Ananta Kumar Singh ponders the way love gone bad can cause people to take leave of reality. Chukwuma Eke Pacella grieves over a lost father in a poignant poem on divorce from a child’s point of view while Jelvin Gibson evokes the deep sorrow of child abandonment and the strength of survivors of that plight. Raafia Shaheen comments on how domestic violence disfigures people and relationships. Depicting the angry stage of grief on a personal level, Moustafa Dandoush’s piece from a scorned lover urges the past partner to begone forever.
Alan Catlin shares his personal, yet culturally infused, memories, illustrating how the cultural subconscious seeps into his own. Pesach Rotem humorously compares his own ordinary life, and the everyday apple, to high culture and pop culture images. While he may never become a “mean ol’ daddy,” he has taken a worthy journey.
Debarati Sen draws upon the imagery of nature and time to convey how she regrets being so far away from a lover. Oona Haskovec infuses her depression into toast, turning a piece on preparing food into a meditation on existential grief while Aloysius S. Harmon renders psychological anguish into visceral sensory images. Steven Jarrell Williams and Emmanuel G.G. Yamba affirm the dignity and rightful place of sorrow in our lives, whether over one’s own condition or the state of the world. Tears deserve to be acknowledged as much as laughter and intellectual eloquence.
Tali Cohen Shabtai asserts her desire to be heard, for her words or her silence, and of understanding and re-constituting a fragmented identity.
Mark Young fragments words and phrases, lines and shapes, into a symphony of color, while Nathan Anderson shreds words into syllables that he repeats and plays with on the page. Patricia Doyne mocks the ignorance of world leaders with a satirical piece on the “gazpacho police,” illustrating what happens when language and ideas break down in the public sphere. Christopher Bernard pokes fun at overwrought Parisian intellectuals in his piece, satirizing the stultifying effects of too much knowledge while Doyne finds humor in its lack.
Hongri Yuan’s poetry, translated from Mandarin by Yuanbing Zhang, brings us back to the idealism of the first submissions mentioned, recollecting a timeless and glorious metaphysical state for humanity. Mehreen Ahmed’s short story also addresses the human condition, evoking the tension between creature and creator, the natural and the artificial. Nahid Gul also explores creation, but in a more positive vein with a parable about a young writer discovering her confidence.
As we can see, many people from a wide variety of backgrounds have all found their voice in this issue. We hope that this issue will build your confidence and encourage your own creative efforts.